On Neil's right shoulder was a burn scar, courtesy of getting smacked by a hot iron. Andrew put his left hand to it, fingertips lining up perfectly with the raised bumps the iron's holes had left behind. His right thumb found the puckered flesh from a bullet. Neil had slept in his bulletproof vest for almost a month after that close call, too scared to take it off. His mother had to bully him into shedding it long enough to wash up. "Someone shot you," Andrew said. "I told you someone was after me," Neil said. "This," Andrew dug his fingers harder into the iron mark, "is not from a life on the
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This scar reveal is so freaking sad
